


pepese (people are singing)

by waywardflower



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Female-Centric, Friendship, Gen, Mom Katara (Avatar), Singing, Water Tribe has some polynesian influences, author loves katara with all of their heart, because im polynesian and i want katara to sing, especially in terms of music!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardflower/pseuds/waywardflower
Summary: pepese- people are singing (Samoan)Katara doesn't even sing that well. She just sings when you need her to.4 times Katara sang and the Gaang was blessed.





	1. to drown out the howling emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is shameless projecting. i am mom friend, katara is mom friend. i am from a culture of boat-people, katara is from a culture of boat-people. why not add singing?
> 
> singing and music are vital to my soul. they've helped me bond with all the people i am close to. singing is Very Very Important To Me.
> 
> i don't see any of the things i'm writing as ship but they are pretty intimate so y'all can feel what you want!

_It was never this quiet in the air temples,_ thinks Aang, shivering.  
  
There was always- Well, wind. Wailing down the halls, whispering through treetops and whipping up the curtains. That was to say nothing of the snoring. Airbenders could _snore._ Even on a still night, you could hear some of the elders sleeping from across the temple.  
  
But the sun has set in this strange new world, and Aang finds he can no longer dance through the air untroubled. The night air is empty. He feels it like a hole in his chest.  
  
He keeps having nightmares.  
  
Desolate plains of cloud and sky. Freedom, but utter, utter isolation. Terror.  
  
Silence.  
  
He wakes up shouting, calling for a people long gone. The first night, Sokka and Katara sit up with him. Each sibling succumbs to sleep eventually, but he sits under the empty sky and listens to nothing. The second night they wake, but he waves them off. He tries spending the third night tucked into Appa's side but it's nothing like the rumbling chorus of the sky bison herds. He always, always wakes up.  
  
On the fourth night, everyone is so tired that Sokka doesn't even stir when Aang jolts awake again, throat raw.  
  
Katara does.  
  
The waterbender hauls him into her arms, shivering and tired herself. He's sorry, he's so sorry. He's trying to do the right thing, trying not to wake them, trying to listen but...  
  
Everyone is gone. And he hadn't listened. And he's so, so tired.  
  
"Shh... I know, Aang. I know," she whispers.  
  
He settles in her lap, still half sprawling out because she's not all that much bigger than him, but for a moment it feels like _together_ and _safe_ and _not alone._ Then the world around him starts rocking back and forth, gently. It's like being cradled by the sea itself. Then Katara starts to hum.  
  
Pressed so close, Aang can feel as the song rumbles soft through her chest. The notes climb, then fall back into pools and eddies of a melody. He sighs. The cadence swirls sweet in his ears.  
  
Swaying in unfamiliar rhythm, Katara's lullaby finds the ache that yawns deep inside his chest. The song touches, but does not try to fill. He lets it stay there. It curls around him, soothing his soul even as her voice stumbles and cracks on the last refrain.

It feels like... something he doesn't have a name for.  _Family,_ murmurs the song, brushing back his worries, easing his heart.

Aang's eyes slide slowly shut. As he finally, finally floats into a sweet peaceful sleep, he wonders at the song that lingers with him still. 

The wound in his chest is not healed, he knows. But maybe he could learn to live with song and ocean.

Maybe he could learn to live with this strange new... _family._


	2. to roar in the face of rising tides

“Ragh!” Throwing down the empty net, Sokka drops to the ice on his knees.

Snow crunches behind him, someone’s probably come to him with yet another chore. He groans. Can’t the village get on without him for just a few minutes? “You okay there, Mr. Big Warrior Man?”

Great. His sister, here to tease him.

“Not now, Katara,” he grumbles. The frayed nets lie there forlornly. Empty _and_ torn. Just his luck. 

“Why? What’s- oh. Again?”

Closing his eyes, he tries not to growl. Not her fault. Ignore little sister, fix the problem. Dad is counting on you.

Sokka’s voice is flat as he answers. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” Right after he finishes patching up the town wall. And repairs the boat. And figures out some way to hunt and refill the stores. It’s going to be a long winter with what they have right now.

“Sokka? You’re… making a weird face. What’s wrong?” asks Katara, voice a little hesitant.

“Nothing, I…” He trails off. The older sibling is supposed to be responsible for them both. He can handle this. “Nothing.” Gathering up the useless nets in his arms, he starts his march back to their igloo. 

“Hey!” Katara’s shout seems to startle them both. She blinks at him, then continues. “I could. Patch up the nets. Myself?”

They stare at each other. She’s offering to do… more work. Sokka knows his sister already does a lot to pick up the slack left by the missing men of the village.

_And Mom,_ he thinks, and wow, amazing, that still hurts.

“Don’t you have, like, girly things to do?” he sniffs. She doesn’t rise to the bait.

“I already did our laundry and fixed the holes in your pants, if that’s what you’re asking.” She smirks. “Oh, and I found some more blankets for our new cousin. And I have Masina working on dinner today, under Gran Gran’s supervision.” Then her voice softens. “I was actually coming down here to ask if you wanted to go sledding, but I know you’ve been really worried. I have time to help.”

Blinking hard to get the snow out of his eyes, Sokka nods. “Thanks, sis.” Understanding hands take the bundle of nets from him without further prompting. He takes a deep breath.

What next, then? He tries to think. Well, the wall will hold another night. But the hunting absolutely needs to get done soon. He should go repair the boat then, so they can actually use the nets when Katara finishes.

Decided, Sokka leaps back into action. To the boat! His steps falter when he sees Katara still walking beside him.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To keep you company, fartbrain,” she says. How can she be so sweet and yet so annoying? He sighs and waves her over anyway.

When they arrive, Sokka gets to work right away. Whipping out the patch kit, his fingers slide down the smooth, water-worn canoe. There it is, a crack the size of his fist. He starts to pour in the resin, taking care to fill in each crevice. Once it dries, he’ll sand it down and make sure it’s really sealed.

In the mean time, Katara sits down on a nearby stump left by woodworkers long past. She takes a long look at the holes in the net, and takes the extra twine in her fingers. Then, with uncertain but nimble fingers, she starts her task.

After a while, she begins to hum. The melody laps at the edge of Sokka’s concentration, and without even noticing he begins to join her, both of them breathing quiet music together.

The sound grows, rises, like a swelling wave, and finally the tide breaks against the arctic air and they sing the words in full. It is an ancient song, a working song, and they make the beat with their hearts and hands, moving quickly across wood and twine **.** It is a lively song, a song of joy. He finds his hands move faster, though he knows there is still something missing.

Their singing is strong, but the chant is not meant to be a duet. There should be a roaring chorus to join them, a harmony that rolls through the chest and body of the whole village, a snowstorm of song.

But they are the only ones left. The only ones who can carry this tradition. Katara’s voice rings high and Sokka fills in, meeting her in twining harmony.

Head lifted, he looks at his sister, who smiles as she weaves her song and net. They are not alone, at least. Too young still, but strong enough.

Strong enough to bear the heart and soul-song of the Southern Water Tribe together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author continues to shamelessly project.
> 
> look. katara is just Really Good, okay?


End file.
